


Fear Not The Beagle

by Fire_Sign



Series: Snips and Snails and Squirrelly Tales [5]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne comes downstairs one morning to find her entire household standing around a crate on her kitchen table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Not The Beagle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meldanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/gifts).



> So, Meldanya made the mistake of telling me that she kept reading the title of Fear Not the Bugle as Fear Not the BEAGLE, and, well... yeah. And it's her birthday, so she gets to reap the dubious rewards of such an error.

Phryne had grown accustomed to many of the eccentricities of sharing her life with a husband and child--the occasional early mornings even without an entertaining diversion to lure her from bed, the constant presence of other people even when they were not physically there, the times she hurled herself onto the chaise in the parlour only to find children’s toy handcuffs beneath her. None of these had prepared her for the morning she stumbled into the kitchen, wondering where in the world Mr. Butler was with a cup of tea, and found her entire household, family and staff alike, standing around a wooden crate on the kitchen table.

“I reckon they’re only a few days old,” Cec said.

Bert muttered something about his friend’s bleeding heart, but Phryne knew him well enough to realise it was pretense. Jack and Mr. Butler were in quiet discussion; she caught something about milk and feeding schedules. Dot was actually warming some milk while casting a suspicious glance at the offending item invading the kitchen. None of them noted her entrance.

Anthony stood on a chair, to better peer into the box. Phryne heard a quiet whimper come from inside, and she wondered what sort of stray animal the cabbies had uncovered. She stepped closer, still unnoticed by the men discussing how best to deal with them.

It was puppies. Three of them. Young enough their eyes were still closed.

Phryne groaned, aware that the discussion raging around her had advanced to the whos and hows of keeping them alive without a lactating bitch. Then she felt a slight tug on her sleeve, and looked down to find Squirrel staring at her.

“Please, mims?”

No mortal human being should be able to beg so thoroughly simply with a look.

“You’ll have to keep them by the stove for warmth,” Phryne announced loudly, causing the men to jump and turn towards her in surprise. Good; that would teach them to be inattentive. “Now, where’s my tea?”

 

\------

 

Two of the three puppies made it through the first night, an unfortunate life lesson for a six year old. The pups were in the potato-like stage of development, making it difficult to guess exactly what sort of dog they were, but Cec had mentioned seeing some sort of pregnant hound in the same area the puppies had been abandoned and that matched with their colouring at least. And even tiny as they were, they did managed to make quite a bit of noise.

“You cannot name them,” Phryne said, watching Jack feeding one. He’d been up several times in the night to do so, and it was both endearing and obnoxious.

“Why not?” he asked, attention still on the pup in his hands. It was ridiculous; the damn thing was about the size of his palm, and he handled it so gently…

“Because if you name them, our son will want to keep them.”

“Would that be so bad?” Jack asked, looking up at her impishly. “I always wanted a dog when I was a boy.”

Phryne just sighed.

“Not you too.”   

 

\------

 

The next few weeks went by quickly, and Phryne began to avoid the kitchen at all costs. The puppies were sniffling and walking and generally make her resolve to get them out of her house as soon as they were old enough groan precariously. Especially the female, a scrappy little thing that would ‘aroo’ with all her might; Jack kept saying that dog and woman actually had quite a bit in common, a comparison she didn’t mind nearly as much as she said she did. Jack had a way of making the silliest things sound romantic, and it was still better than that blasted telescope line.

As they grew, their initial suspicions were confirmed--the pups were beagles, or mostly beagles, and had the hound propensity for interesting scents. A fact discovered when they escaped the rooms they were contained to and chewed a pair of Phryne’s shoes.

She held them up by the ruined T-strap and waved them in front of Jack’s face.

“We are _not_ keeping them.”

“Of course not,” he said placidly, then grinned. “One maybe, but not both.”

That cheeky bastard. She chucked the shoe out of the room and kissed him soundly.

 

\------

 

The lack of names did not hinder her child’s growing attachment. Cec eventually took the male in, once he’d persuaded Alice, but could not justify both in their small bungalow. Separated from her brother the first time, the female cried incessantly the first night. The second was much better, and Phryne thought very little of it until she went into Anthony’s room to retrieve a glove she’d left and was greeted by a ferocious commotion from the bed. She flicked the light on and found that the dog had been smuggled upstairs to sleep with Anthony.

Jack came running at the noise, pulling up just behind her in the doorway.

“I thought someone was being murdered,” he said breathlessly.

“No,” Phryne said, shaking her head and moving across the room to pick the dog up. “Just someone getting into a great deal of trouble.”

Said someone had slept through the excitement, and Phryne rolled her eyes. The puppy squirmed and licked her hand, and even Phryne had to admit that the soft, floppy ears and dark eyes were sweet. She returned the dog to the kitchen bed, ignoring the whimpers of protest, then met Jack in the parlour.

“You know,” he said, eyes dancing over a tumbler of whiskey, “I really do think that it could be a good decision.”

“Keeping the dog, Jack? You cannot be serious!”

He placed his drink on the tray and sighed.

“I am, actually. She’s very good with Ant, but if we have an intruder--which is always a possibility with our lines of work, though we both ignore that fact--she’ll at the very least alert us. Probably lick the intruder to death, but...” he shrugged.

“‘Fear not the beagle though loudly she bays’?” Phryne suggested with a laugh.

“It never even occurred to me, but when I heard her in Ant’s bedroom, I really thought…” his lips quirked slightly. “It frightened me.”

And damn it all to hell, he probably had a point.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

 

\------

“She’ll need a name,” Phryne said, casting her eye towards the basket in the corner of the kitchen and ignoring the smile Jack hid behind his cup of tea.

“Cordelia.”

“No,” said Phryne. “Annie?”

“No” Jack shook his head. “Miranda? Rosalind? Portia? Hermione, perhaps?”

“You’re just reeling off Shakespearean characters, Jack. This is serious. She needs a name.”

“I am being serious!” he exclaimed, promptly undermining the assertion with, “Goneril.”

“I’d like something I’m not embarrassed to say in public. This was your idea in the first place. Daisy.”

“Wasn’t that Mac’s…”

“Oh God. Definitely no to Daisy then.”

Jack nodded.

“We could name her Henrietta, after your father,” he suggested with a grin.

A raised eyebrow was the only response.

“Fine, fine. Cassiopeia? Andromeda?”

“Mythology or astronomy? Actually, nevermind; it’s a no either way. Rosie?”

“Absolutely not,” his answer was firm.

“Oh, right. That would be awkward…”

“Chipmunk.”

They both jumped, not realising that Anthony had come in.

“Sorry, but no,” Phryne said.

“Why?”

Ahh, her old nemesis; a child who wanted to know why.

“It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s no more ridiculous than you declaring our son Squirrel, Phryne.”

“I don’t believe I asked your opinion, Jack,” she glowered at him, before turning to the boy. “We are not naming her Chipmunk, darling. They don’t even exist in Australia.”

“No. Chipmunk,” he asserted with all the confidence of youth. “C’mon, Chippo.”

They watched the puppy clamber out of the basket and follow Anthony from the room.

“So, Chipmunk it is...” Phryne sighed.

“You’re the one that decided the boy needed a book titled _Native Flora and Fauna of North America_ , Phryne,” Jack said, taking another sip of his tea. “I really cannot be held responsible for the consequences.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Loudly She Bays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840097) by [Meldanya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya)




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